


Sky Full of Song

by drivingsideways



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fix It, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Post-Season/Series Finale, dean winchester cries like it's 2010, episode coda, grace sex like it's 2010, i'm only a fic writer and SPN writers were actually PAID for the trauma they inflicted on us, john winchester whomst???, sentimental drivel, this is purely id fic don't ask me for plot or logic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27684431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drivingsideways/pseuds/drivingsideways
Summary: "Dean loves you a great deal", Jack says, after a while."Love isn't the most important thing", Castiel says, after a minute. "Freedom is.""That's bullshit", snorts Jack, with all the confidence of a teenage God. "You don't even believe that. Besides, love sets us free.""Where did you learn that?""It's printed on the roof of a cyclo in Saigon".Or: The One in which Cas ghosted Dean.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 45
Kudos: 189





	Sky Full of Song

**Author's Note:**

> \- Castiel's pronouns are they/them as befits a wavelength of celestial intent with RAINBOW COLOURED WINGS as per Mr. M. Collins.
> 
> -Jack's pronouns are he/him because he's a cute white boy. (Show: Let's destroy the white man god to replace him with....another white man god. Me: OK.)
> 
> -Rain, look away. This is not for you.

**One.**

An immeasurably powerful being comes for them.

Castiel, who has been—sleeping—wakes up to find their Grace raw and untrammeled like they are newborn, like the beginning that Castiel can hardly remember anymore. The being wears a face, but Castiel can only see what lies beneath, and what lies beneath is something that Castiel, with their many eyes can barely comprehend, let alone look at directly. 

Age-old instinct brings them to their knees, because Castiel was made for worship, but there's a strange, panicked voice yelping, "Cas? Castiel? What are you _doing?_ " 

Everything dims a little, after that, and Castiel isn't sure what is going on, exactly, but when they look up, they are folded into a battered tan trench coat, and they can feel their phalanges clench and unclench, and eyelids blink, rapid, once, twice, their lungs expand and contract and the boy in front of them, says again, less panicked, but still tinged with doubt, "Castiel?"

"Jack?" Castiel says, and his humanoid voice sounds scraped, and his throat hurts, parched.

Which cannot be, because angels cannot feel.

"Castiel", says the boy, a little more confident, and oh, evidently, Castiel _feels,_ as memory rushes in, Jack's feet kicking against his hand while he was still in Kelly's womb, Jack crying, Jack afraid, Jack _dead_ —

"You" says, Castiel, wondering, "You're—"

Jack shrugs, looking a bit sheepish, and runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it a little.

Castiel doesn't remember him doing that.

 _Before_.

"We won", Jack says, simply. "We defeated Chuck."

" _How_?" asks Castiel, because yes, Castiel had thrown themself into the void in an agony of love and hope and desperation, but—

Jack does that scrunched-face thing that—

"I", he starts, and then stops.

"After", he tries again, "After we lost you, we also lost everyone on Earth. I started to feel strange things. Power, rushing into me. I couldn't stop it. It was like everything _wanted_ to come to me."

He shrugs, brow clearing. "Then Michael and Lucifer came back and got into a fight, and when _that_ was over, we—that is, _Sam_ figured out that if I was becoming some kind of power vacuum, then perhaps I might be able to drain Chuck of _his_ —"

He sighs.

"It's a long story. But yeah."

He shuffles his feet.

"I'm God now."

When Castiel doesn't respond, Jack steps closer and peers into Castiel's face.

"Is this making you uncomfortable?" he queries. "I just—well, I'm used to seeing _this_ face of yours and you seemed quite—do you want to go back to being—" he waves a hand, tracing a vague shape in the air.

"No", says Castiel, "This will do."

Jack frowns at him. "But you're…. _sad_ " he says, "Like this. _Oh_."

He grins at Castiel.

"How stupid of me! You want to see Sam and Dean, of course. Come on, we can—"

"No", says Castiel, reflexively.

Jack blinks at him in confusion.

"They're _fine_ ," Jack says, "Better than, actually, both of them. Still saving people, hunting things. The family business. You know."

Castiel does.

"They went back to it?" Castiel asks, tentative. " _Both_ of them?"

"Yeah, of course", says Jack, "Why not?"

When Castiel is silent, he says, after a minute, "I mean, there are still monsters. I didn’t—I _don't_ want to _interfere—_ like Chuck did."

Castiel gives him a considering look.

"You brought _me_ back", they point out.

Jack goes shifty-eyed.

"Did..did they ask you to?" Castiel asks.

Did _Dean_ —

"No", Jack says, expression turning sheepish.

"It's just that—well", he says, tone turning defiant, in the manner of a human child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, but determined to brazen it out, "It's not like you were having fun back there and I was just, just—righting a _wrong_ —"

Something in Castiel twists— _feelings_ , they remind themselves— _feelings_ aren't easy to understand.

They weren't easy for Castiel, and they're not easy for Jack, who might be the strangest creature in the universe, aside from them.

"Jack", they say, "Thank you."

Jack swallows and looks away.

"I missed you", he confesses, quietly. "It's—this is—all of this—"

"It's a lot", Castiel agrees.

"Yeah", sighs Jack.

They're both quiet for a while.

Castiel takes the time to study the place where they are—a drive-in movie theatre, or more accurately, a facsimile of one. There are even cars parked all around, and _people._ In the far distance, images cycle rapidly across a giant screen that seems to stretch into the sky, which has been dimmed to seem like night. An infinity of stars lies unfurled above. 

Castiel and Jack are right at the back, and Jack hops onto the roof of an empty car, as Castiel queries, "Star Wars?"

"Popular around here," Jack confirms, "But these are the prequels as they were supposed to have been."

He gives Castiel a smile that's singularly mischievous and sweet.

"It's not interfering to just…move things around a bit, and uh, dip into the available entertainment across universes, is it? I didn't _make_ George Lucas _do_ anything _._ "

He pats the space beside him, and a giant carton of popcorn appears like magic in one hand, and two cans of Coke in the other.

"C'mon" he says, cheerfully, "We're just getting to the _really_ good parts."

"Your habits have not improved", Castiel feels oddly compelled to point out, another remnant of the life—before.

"Phishh", says Jack, "I've already died once, and it didn’t take. I don't think carbonated sugar water is going to do the trick either. Besides, you’re thirsty too, aren't you?"

Castiel is.

They shouldn't be, but oh, then, Castiel is a lot of things they were never meant to be.

They takes a swig from the bottle and over the metallic taste of the can, it tastes— _good_.

Jack's pleased smile is another, sweeter reward.

**Two**.

Jack brings up paying the Winchesters a visit again, once.

They're in sector two of The Enterprise, as Jack has happily started referring to Heaven 3.0, having speed-watched or perhaps speed-absorbed, Castiel isn't clear which, all the versions of the Star Trek franchise that exist across multiple universes.

"Cas", he says, and this is what he calls Castiel now, regularly.

_Cas._

Castiel had been born with their name woven into the fibre of their Grace, and then Dean Winchester had rechristened them, and Castiel had been born again, in a baptism of love and fire and helpless, burning desire.

"Why don't you want to see them?" Jack grouses, and then a little more carefully, "They'd want to see you."

"Are they hurt?" Castiel asks, as they bend to set a field of wildflowers in place. "Are they in any sort of need?"

Castiel knows as well as Jack that they aren't. Not above the normal kind that comes with human existence, anyway. Sam's tiredly blinking at his laptop screen, refreshing the page that shows the latest on the election results for the United States. In 2024, a woman named Stacey Abrams is a few hours away from winning the presidency of the country, a future that Castiel and Jack know, but not Sam, who's nervously refreshing his screen every two minutes even though he knows it's not very useful.

As for Dean—

Castiel refuses to think about Dean.

Dean, who hasn't asked for Castiel, or prayed to them, or—

"Noooo…", says Jack, frowning in concentration as he tries to get a stream to behave. "But I think they'd like to know you're ok."

"They'll know", Castiel says, and lets a starling fly away, "In time."

Jack looks up, his hands muddy with clay.

"Are you angry with them?" he asks, after a moment. "Is it because—"

"No", says Castiel, and then, "Something's going on in Andromeda, we should probably take a look."

"Dang", says Jack, looking put out. "But I was having fun here."

"Being the master of the universes", says Castiel, repressively, "is not _fun_."

They feel, rather than see Jack roll his eyes at them, but Jack gets up and brushes off the dirt.

"Up, up and away!" he calls, as he runs ahead of Castiel, looking over his shoulder to give them a roguish grin as he blinks out of sight.

Castiel follows at a more sedate pace.

 _Like riding a comet,_ Jimmy Novak had said, so long ago.

Comets burnt themselves out too.

**Three.**

The thing is, Castiel _has_ visited them.

They choose a day when they feel Dean being cheerful, anticipatory.

If they are going to see them again, Castiel would rather see Dean at his happiest, they think.

After all, that was what they had given themselves over for: the chance for Dean to be happy.

The brothers at a fair of some sorts, there's pie, and Dean's smile is the brightest thing in the universe, as always.

Castiel hovers, out of mortal sight, and subtly makes the slices of pie taste exactly as Dean likes them.

It's a reflex action, Castiel tells themselves, it's just _habit._

"I was thinking of Cas, y'know", says Sam, suddenly. "And Jack. If they could be here."

"Yeah, no," says Dean, "I think about them too."

Do you, wonders Castiel, _do you_?

"You know what, that pain's not going to go away," says Dean, sounding matter of fact. "Right?"

Sam nods, staring at his hands.

"But if we don't keep living", Dean continues, "then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing."

He bumps Sam lightly on the hand.

"So quit being a friggin' Eeyore, huh? C'mon."

Castiel doesn't know what an Eeyore is.

They watch Dean tuck enthusiastically into a slice of pie, and then the scramble where Sam slaps pie onto Dean's face, laughing. Dean pretends to be angry, but Castiel can tell, Castiel who has known Dean's soul, held it in their hands, carefully, reverently— Dean's happy.

Castiel leaves.

**Four**.

The thing is, Dean had called Castiel, _best friend, brother, family._ Had defended them, and killed them, and brought them back, and waited for them, and grieved them, and prayed to them, had cast them out into the cold, had wept, agonized, _I shouldn't have let you go._

And sometimes, when they were apart, Castiel had felt the pull of Dean's longing for them as sure and present as when Dean had clung to them as Castiel raised him from perdition.

But he'd never said, I'm yours, as you are mine, though surely, _surely_ he must have known, even before Castiel had found the courage to lay themselves bare, that there was nothing he could ask of Castiel that Castiel wasn't ready to give him.

Castiel had not been subtle about it; the entire universe seemed to have known before Castiel themselves did.

Sometimes, perhaps, love wasn't enough.

Castiel was an angel, after all, and Dean was human. He had suffered first at the hands of Heaven and Hell and God to protect humanity, and then through the discovery that it might have all been one cosmic, cruel joke, and he had wanted nothing more than to be free.

And now he was.

Castiel belonged to a different part of Dean's life- the past, that he could finally lay to rest.

Dean was finally getting the chance to write his own story, and so far, he hadn't asked for Castiel to be part of that story.

It would be selfish of Castiel to turn up at Dean's doorstep and demand to be part of his life again.

Love wasn't selfish.

**Five.**

The thing is, Castiel hadn't been lying to Dean when they'd said, happiness isn't in the having.

But happiness, it turns out, isn't in the not-having ,either.

Acceptance begins to feel like cowardice when life is long.

**Six**.

Castiel hadn't been lying when they said that Dean changed them.

Dean had taught them to love, yes.

But Dean had also taught them other things.

Want, like a perennial itch beneath Castiel's too human, too thin skin.

Slithering through every part of them, taking up residence in all the pathways to their many-chambered heart, which Dean had called into existence when he'd said, Cas, this is the only thing that's worth it.

Perhaps Love was a little selfish, after all.

Perhaps _Castiel_ is.

**Seven.**

Dean dies on a Thursday.

**Eight.**

"Cas" says Jack, shortly after.

They're in Sector Three Thousand and Fifteen; a herd of elephants had gotten a bit too rowdy, due to a slight misunderstanding with the human souls who shared their habitat. Not something that really required _Jack_ to be there. By now, they've established a-well, a bureaucracy, to be honest, because sometimes the old stuff isn't exactly _entirely garbage,_ as Jack had put it. Only, unlike the old Heaven, this is pretty much managed by the inhabitants of The Enterprise—human or otherwise-- themselves. It works pretty well, most of the time.

"What?" asks Castiel, as he gently heals the calf that had accidentally hurt itself on a fence post that was sharper and taller than the regulation. The violator's already been fined; building permits have been revoked but Castiel had also arranged for birdcall outside the perpetrator's house every single day at varying hours of the night for at least sixty cycles.

Castiel can be petty.

They are _allowed_.

"No", they tell Jack, who gives them a sad look.

 _Oh_ , perhaps that was the Eeyore look.

"But _why_ ", Jack whines.

Cas leans back against the fence and watches the calf trot away, back to the anxiously waiting herd.

"Dean is happy now," they say. "Or almost", they amend. "Once Sam is here, it will be perfect. He doesn't need me."

"Did he say that?" asks Jack, eyes going wide.

"No", admits Castiel. "But he didn't say anything else either."

**Nine**.

The thing is, Castiel doesn’t want Dean to feel _obligated_.

Dean has a streak of self-sacrifice that's as wide as the Caspian Sea, and Castiel doesn't want to be any more of a chore or obligation than they have been to Dean for all the long years of their— _brotherhood_.

Castiel had shocked Dean, to the core of him, with their confession, and Castiel had seen the swirling confusion, the fear, the panic, the _shit what do I say, what do I do—how do I **stop** him—_

So, no, Castiel would not be paying a visit anytime soon.

Of course, if _Dean_ evinced an interest in meeting them, then Castiel would not stay away.

Castiel isn't _that_ cruel.

(They have, on occasion, been exactly that cruel, but they are trying to outgrow it.)

Dean is still their friend.

Dean knows how to reach them, if he wants to.

But Dean doesn't call.

Not that Castiel is waiting.

They have work to do.

**Ten.**

Sam dies.

**Eleven.**

A _very_ short while after that, Castiel hears their name being called by a Winchester.

"Cas?" queries Sam, it's soft, and a little hesitant. "Can you hear this?"

And then, after a pause. "If you can, do you think, um, that is, why don't you drop by? I'm at the, well, at my mother's place."

Jack materializes beside Castiel just after and gives Castiel a judgemental look.

"Aren't you going to answer Sam?" he asks in an accusatory tone.

Castiel narrows (all) their eyes at him.

"Did _you_ put him up to this?"

Castiel can't think of any reason why _Sam_ would want to see him so soon after reaching Heaven.

Perhaps he wanted some help to acclimatize, or more realistically, he probably wanted to know how everything _worked._ Sam was that kind of man.

Jack gives a sigh that contains more than a hint of exasperation.

"Cas", he says, and has the gall to put a hand on Castiel's shoulder, "Good things do happen, you know."

"I'm busy", says Castiel, moving away.

Jack gives him the Eeyore look.

"I'll see him soon", Castiel finds themselves promising.

**Twelve.**

Sam is in the kitchen of Chez Winchester, along with Mary. There's flour everywhere, on the long, wooden table, and in the air, and on the stove, and they're both giggling like children, swatting at each other. Castiel pauses for a moment to enjoy the warmth, before making themselves known.

"Cas!" Sam exclaims, and then Castiel is being enveloped in the kind of hug that only a man as large as Sam Winchester could give them.

Castiel lets themselves be hugged.

It goes on for longer than they'd expected.

When Sam draws back, he's a little misty-eyed.

"Good to see you, Cas", Sam says, and then, incredibly, "I missed you."

Liar, Castiel wants to say, but Sam's not lying.

There is no shadow of untruth in him, not anymore.

And the weariness that Sam had carried in his shoulders all the years that Castiel had known him, that's gone too.

It's good, Castiel is glad. Sam Winchester deserved his happiness.

Sam seems to be waiting for something though, and when Castiel, says, belatedly, "Oh. I missed you too, Sam", that's not a lie either.

Sam gives them a wry smile.

"I suppose you were too busy to let us know you were ok", he says.

"The rules regarding maintain the borders between the worlds are there for a reason", Castiel says, blithely skirting the truth. "We don't want a mess like before."

Mary Winchester smiles at them and says, mildly, "Castiel has been extremely busy, Sam."

Castiel had made their peace with Mary Winchester shortly after Jack had brought them here. Her generosity had been unlooked for, but then, Mary Winchester was always a surprise. Castiel had stayed out of Mary's way, though they'd occasionally met at the Roadhouse, because they enjoyed spending time with Jo and Ellen. Of course, Castiel had made sure to never be around when they'd sensed Dean's presence there.

"I heard!" Sam exclaims, face lighting up. "So, tell me—"

The heavy thump of boots hitting the wooden floor barely precedes the screen door being shoved open, and suddenly the kitchen seems too small, with Dean Winchester in it.

"Cas", says Dean Winchester, after a moment, "This is a surprise."

Dean's entire being is a riot of emotions, too tangled and messy for Castiel to understand what Dean _really_ feels.

"Hardly", mutters Mary, and a look passes between her and Sam that Castiel has no way of interpreting, but seems to amuse Sam.

"Hello, Dean", says Castiel.

Unlike Sam, Dean doesn't move toward him, only nods, and says, "Good to see you, Cas", gruffly, and not meeting Castiel's eyes.

Instead, he starts to investigate the ongoing baking project, which quickly devolves into the kind of good natured squabble between the brothers that Castiel has seen many times.

The maelstrom within Dean starts smoothing out into familiar colours, his love for Sam and Mary, for food and sunlight, and beer and Baby and _home_ —

Mary turns to Castiel and says, "You'll stay for lunch, won't you?" and Castiel, sees the line of Dean's shoulders go tense, and the colours start to swirl again.

 _Distress_.

"I don’t need to eat," says Castiel, wishing they had not that learnt things like _courtesy_ mattered to human beings, even dead ones. They would rather have just disappeared.

Dean turns toward them, crossing his hands across his chest, something like a challenge in his viridian eyes, that are the exact shade of the pools on a planet that orbits Centaurus, that humans will not discover until five human centuries later.

"That's not what Ellen says."

"The Roadhouse burgers are an exception."

Mary laughs.

"Are you saying I can't make a pie tolerable enough to tempt you, Castiel?"

There's a mischievous glint in her eye that tells Castiel that perhaps she's teasing.

Dean is really a _lot_ like her.

Castiel has learnt a lot about human behaviour, but all that knowledge seems to be escaping him at the moment, pinned to the wooden floor as they are , by Dean's gaze which hasn't left their face.

"C'mon Cas", Sam says, putting a flour-covered hand on their shoulder, cajoling. "You've gotta stay and tell me whether I should set up a bakery or not…"

"Is that something you want to do?" asks Castiel, distracted. Castiel hadn't thought that Sam would be interested in something like that. Back on Earth, cooking for the family had always been _Dean's_ –

"I picked up a few things thanks to having a hungry kid at home for like eighteen years", Sam says, smiling, but with a hint of wistfulness.

"Dean Jr is doing well, Sam", says Castiel. "He's just met the man he's going to marry five years from now."

Sam exhales heavily, and blinks rapidly. "Wow", he says, into the sudden silence in the kitchen. " _Wow_. He's all grown up, isn't he? It feels like yesterday that I was struggling to figure out how to change his diapers."

"I thought you said no traffic between the worlds", says Dean, wariness creeping into his eyes, and the colours in him start leaching grey at the edges.

"Nobody's _interfering_ ", Castiel says, evenly. "We keep our distance."

The wariness recedes, a little, and Mary says, "It's really different now, Dean. Besides, Castiel is a friend. If there was an angel I'd trust to watch over him, it's Castiel."

Castiel really didn't deserve it, they think, Mary's forgiveness, but they have it anyway, and they will do their best to honour it.

Dean's emotions are doing that thing that Castiel doesn't quite understand, but he turns away on the pretense of checking on the chili that's on the stove, and says, almost offhanded, "Yeah, thanks, Cas."

Castiel turns toward Sam.

"You raised a good person. He's going give and receive a lot of joy."

Sam nods, smiling a little wetly, and squeezes Castiel's shoulder, before turning away. "So, you're staying for lunch then, right?"

And Castiel finds themselves nodding, and Dean says, "Yeah Sammy, show us how to burn mac and cheese" and they're off again, and it's alright, Castiel finds, it's familiar and warm, and almost, _almost_ like those rare times when they were all together, and there wasn't a world-ending crisis at the doorstep.

They can let themselves have this, Castiel thinks, for a short while. They were invited to, so it's not breaching boundaries, or _personal space, Cas, we've talked about it._

They are seated next to Sam, and that's a relief too, though perhaps not as much, as Dean becomes more and more relaxed, and even looks at Castiel directly, every now and then, talks to them, and smiles when he does, and there are new colours in him, the blue of the Mediterranean, and the gold of wheat in a northern Indian summer.

It's a good thing that Jack isn't here, Castiel thinks, though undoubtedly, he _knows._ But if Jack were here, then Castiel would have to _face_ him with the knowledge that Jack can _see_ how all of Castiel's being is reaching for Dean, like a plant for the sun.

They should leave, Castiel tells themselves, before they outstay their welcome. They should go while Dean is still smiling. But lunch turns into beers on the porch and answering Sam's thousand fascinated questions while Dean listens quietly, as he tinkers under the Impala's hood, though he doesn't need to, the car would never run less than perfectly here. Before Castiel knows it, stars are beginning to dot the darkening sky, and Castiel is being herded between Mary and Sam to the Roadhouse, and then Bobby is there, and Rufus and Jo and Ellen and Charlie and then it really is time Castiel left, and Dean's soul, sparkling, joyful, brighter, brighter, brighter, is all Castiel can focus on, and Dean's laughing at something Jo just said to him, heads banging together, giggling like children, and it's like drinking a liquor store, and then three more, and Castiel should really, really leave before they do something incredibly stupid like reach out with their Grace and twine themselves through Dean in such a way that Dean can never—

Castiel gets to their feet, and says, louder than they'd intended, "I need to go."

They have a moment to register Dean's startled surprise and Sam's "Wait-Cas-" and then they're _out,_ and oh, it's _really_ far out, Castiel registers, but it doesn't matter, it's not like they don't know the way home, and they miss Claire, but it's good, good to miss her, Kaia and she are sleeping peacefully, under the roof of the home they've just put a down-payment on, after so many years of wandering, and Castiel is willing to wait for her for a long, long time, so it shouldn’t ache like this—

There's a warmth pressing against them, _all of them,_ inside out.

Castiel takes several breaths that they don't need to.

The warmth glows stronger.

"Jack", Castiel says, finally, when the— hug— has begun to actually burn through them, "I'm alright now. Thank you."

The heat recedes into the normal warmth of a humanoid-shaped God pressed against Castiel's side.

"So," says Jack, "This love thing is really vile, yeah?"

It's on the tip of Castiel's tongue to deny it, to mouth a platitude, but it's Jack, who's both God and Castiel's baby, and Jack would know how Castiel feels anyway.

"Sometimes."

Jack produces two cherry-flavoured ice lollies and hands Castiel one.

They sit quietly together. Castiel finds that sucking slowly on the icy sweetness _does_ cool the tumult inside them.

After a while, Jack says, "The two of you are making it really _difficult_ y'know."

"What do you mean?"

Jack jumps to his feet and even stamps the ground under him a little, raising a small swirl of amethyst coloured mineral dust.

"To _not_ interfere!" Jack whines, frustrated. "Why don't you just— _talk_ —like normal people??"

"We’re not normal", Castiel points out, "Or people."

Jack groans and falls dramatically to the ground, causing an entire new crater to be formed on the pristine planet.

Castiel waves a wing to undo it.

"Dean loves you a great deal", Jack says, after a while.

"Love isn't the most important thing", Castiel says, after a minute. "Freedom is."

"That's bullshit", snorts Jack, with all the confidence of a teenage God. "You don't even believe that. Besides, love sets us free."

"Where did you learn that?"

"It's printed on the roof of a cyclo in Saigon".

Castiel laughs.

Jack props himself up on both elbows and stares up at them.

"Why won't you let yourself be happy?" he demands, petulant.

"I already am," Castiel says, honestly, because that's what they've learnt- that sorrow and joy can and do coexist, are irreparably entwined. "More than I ever imagined possible."

Now they have a chance to make reparations for everything they had broken, in their naivete, and fear and arrogance and grief. Now they have Jack. The Winchesters are safe. It was a gift, Grace, it was more than they deserved.

"Then let yourself imagine _more_ ", Jack is saying, as he gets up, dusting off his jeans. He comes closer and presses his hand over Castiel's many-chambered heart.

"Risk this once more", he says, "Set yourself free."

And that's when Castiel hears a soft, "Cas? You there?".

It's Dean.

**Thirteen.**

He finds Dean perched on the roof of the Impala, which is parked at the edge of a field in Sector Nine Hundred. Dean comes here often, and if Castiel feels glad that they were the person that had tended this sector, well, that's between themselves and the universe.

In the distance, mountains taller than any on earth loom blue-grey in the gathering dark. If it were day, Castiel knows that they'd be able to see the wildflowers—not only of Earth—stretched out in joyous dance as far as the human eye would be able to see. But now, there's only the damp smell of the ground drenched in evening dew, and an odd mix of scents from the plants. The constellations are slowly winking themselves into place, and three moons rise beyond the mountains, pale and cool.

Castiel has been away for a while, perhaps a week in Dean's time, since they were at the Roadhouse.

"Hello, Dean", he says, and Dean falls off the Impala in shock, manages to convert it into a slip-slide until his feet hit solid ground.

"Jesus Christ, Cas!" he swears, rubbing at his shoulder, "Give a guy some warning!"

"But you were the one who called", Castiel says, reasonably, "You should have expected my arrival."

"Should I?" Dean barks, "Really, Cas? After you've been radio silent on me this entire— _god_ , I don't even know how long it's been—"

He's all up in Castiel's space now, his eyes flashing, and that swirl of colours in him—

"I was busy", Castiel hedges, stepping back, putting some necessary space between them.

But it's useless, because Dean just follows them, and Castiel can smell the alchohol on him, and it looks like Dean had decided to go for something stronger than beer.

"Busy", he repeats, in a flat tone. "You had the time to hang out with every fucking joe smith from here to fuck, I don't even know where this place ends, but everyone I run into is like, oh Castiel said this, Castiel said that, Castiel likes roses, Castiel's great with dogs yada yada the sun shines from your angelic ass—and you couldn't bother to drop in until last week, and you only did _that_ because _Sam_ called, and then you fucking _disappeared_ –"

He runs out of breath, and his voice cracks on the last word.

" _Dean_ ", says, Castiel. " _You_ never called. Not once. Not on Earth, after Chuck, or after you got here and you knew I was out of The Empty. What was I supposed to think?"

"You fucking well _know,_ " Dean grinds out, and the colours of him are dark and tormented, in a way that's not supposed to be possible here in heaven, but then Dean had never once followed the rules, had he?

"You fucking _know_ , Cas."

Castiel shakes their head.

"No," Castiel says, softly, "Dean, I _don't_. After what I said to you before—I didn't want to be a burden on you, or make you feel obligated in any way. You've suffered so much, Dean. What did I ever bring you except sorrow? And you forgave me, every time, but I know there are limits, as there _should_ be—you should live out the rest of eternity in happiness and freedom. How we started—we neither of us had a choice, I know, but now— _you_ do—"

"Cas", Dean says, and his voice is shaking. Whatever combination of rage and alcohol had brought him here seems to be fading fast. "Cas" he says again, quieter, " _Shit_. _Fuck_."

He rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands, and then takes a deep breath.

"Cas", he says once more, as though a litany of his name would explain anything. "Don’t you get it? You _saved_ me, but I _destroyed_ you. Every time you go, I think this is the last time I see him, but you kept coming back, and then you—you— _fuck_ —I figured Jack would have got you out, anyhow, no way he was gonna leave you to rot in The Empty, but this time you never—you didn't come back, this time, and that—I thought you—"

He stops again, his mouth twisting, his eyes—

"Dean", says Castiel, helpless now to do anything but reach out—but they hesitate, and their hand ends up on Dean's shoulder, where they'd once left a mark.

Dean shudders under the touch, and screws his eyes tightly shut.

"Is this it, then?" he asks, voice crackling like wheels on gravel, "You cured of me?"

"Dean", says Castiel, _shocked_. "Open your eyes. Look at me."

Dean shakes his head, as though to say he can't.

"Please", begs Castiel, because they need Dean to understand, to _see—_

His eyes flutter open, lashes wet.

Castiel's heart thumps against its fragile cage, threatens to jump right out and throw itself into Dean's hands.

Castiel steps back, a little, and unfurls themselves, all of themselves, without the cover of Jimmy Novak's skin which is now Castiel's skin.

They could have never done this on Earth, without hurting Dean or scarring him. Dean's never seen them like this, except in hell, and Dean's mortal mind had been unable to process or retain those memories later.

Even now, Dean falls to his knees, and stares up, transfixed, at Castiel's four animal heads that face each direction, and their wings covered with eyes, and their feet of blue flame.

" _Don't_ ", Castiel says, and their voice ripples through the grass, making it sway, and the glass of the Impala's windows shiver. "It's just me, Dean."

Castiel reaches out with their grace, bending down to twine a tendril around Dean's right wrist, gently tugging him to his feet.

"Come closer", they say, soft as they can, and Dean _does._

Castiel takes Dean's hand and presses it against their grace, and the spot where his open palm rests pulses like a human heartbeat, sears Castiel like a brand.

"You aren't a _sickness_. You're—" Castiel stumbles, because words aren't _enough._ "You're the heart I was never supposed to have. You're _necessary_. To me."

Dean's hand curls into a fist, reflexively, clinging.

"Castiel," he whispers, " _Cas_."

" _Dean_ ", Castiel thinks, hoping that Dean will _understand,_ because language has limits, and what Castiel feels doesn't. And perhaps Dean does, because Castiel can feel his soul clinging back, opening up, pouring out all of Dean's anger and fear and grief and loneliness and longing and shame, all the things he'd buried just to be able to survive—

Castiel's wings fold themselves around Dean, without much conscious choice.

It has been an aeon, since they held Dean like this, and memory and longing melt into each other, in this burning embrace.

 _I was scared too,_ Castiel confesses, quiet, _I was scared that I'd be left alone in my love. It's the most terrible thing in all the universes, to be alone in the dark._

 _You're not,_ Dean promises, clinging harder, _you'll never be alone again_.

Castiel is crying, they realize, tears that they didn't realize they could shed in this realm are streaming down their faces, and mingling with Dean's as they press closer, and closer, and still not close _enough,_ and Dean's soul is no longer dark and wretched, and the gold of Dean's pure happiness is shot with a _now_ familiar blue, _oh,_ Castiel thinks, _I have been blind,_ and Dean laughs, joyful and free.

Castiel wants to kiss his smile, wants to be the one to make him smile, and then kiss the corners of it, wants it for the rest of eternity, and so they fold themselves into a familiar shape— and then they're just two creatures smiling foolishly, shakily, at each other under a star-drenched sky.

Dean reaches out first, cradling Castiel's face between his calloused hands, and Castiel can still feel every whorl and line, like before, and oh, that was an odd effect, they had not thought—but thoughts seem futile, extraneous, when there's so much to _feel,_ when Dean leans forward to gently rest his forehead against Castiel's, folding him into his embrace again.

And what was freedom, if not this, knowing and being known fully, not through a mirror, darkly, but face to beloved face?

"Love sets us free", Castiel murmurs dazedly, lips pressed to the shell of Dean's ear.

Dean chuckles.

"Where did you learn that?"

"From Jack".

"Kid sure grew up fast", Dean says, pressing a kiss at the corner of Castiel's mouth, which was made for Dean's kisses, Castiel sees it now, how could they have ever resented this flesh and bone?

"He's got the personality of a very precocious teenager, yes," Castiel replies, and Dean's laughing, and Castiel pulls him in to swallow the laughter in a kiss they've waited several lifetimes for.

There's no rush.

Dean tugs Castiel down with him, as he slowly sinks into the bed of grass that Castiel makes sure feels like the softest eiderdown. He winds his fingers in Castiel's hair and lets Castiel press him down into the tender earth. Above them, fireflies wink in and out like little Christmas lights they had at the Gas-n-Sip Castiel had worked at those long, lonely months, as they talk with their lips and tongues and hands. Castiel runs their knuckles against the slight stubble on Dean's chin, kisses his brow, then the corner of his mouth, and Dean mirrors the actions, eyes crinkling, as he tugs lightly at Castiel's hair.

"Hey, that soul sex we just had? Can we do that while we have _actual_ sex?"

Castiel's tongue is too occupied to reply immediately, so it takes a while to say, "That wasn't soul sex".

"Sure felt like it."

" _Dean_."

Dean's smile against his cheek feels playful, teasing, and Castiel slides a hand under Dean's shirt, against the small of his back and another up his thigh, grips his hip and pulls him closer and is rewarded by Dean's hitched breath, and darkening eyes.

"I'm ready for the actual sex", Castiel says, " _now._ "

"Buy a girl a drink, will you", gripes Dean, but he's already yanking at Castiel's shirt, and Castiel's run out of patience, after all, so they just vanish all the clothes, and Dean yelps in surprised laughter but Dean's hands are restless on their skin, sliding up their spine, leaving a burning trail. Castiel moans into Dean's mouth as Dean's fingers go _through_ their skin and slide into their wings. Dean's soul is singing with want, a prayer by itself, and all Castiel can do is groan their answer, as they kiss and kiss and kiss, finding their rhythm together, at first unsteady, a little rough. Castiel feels their grace bursting out of control, shattering under the sheer force of the love they feel rushing through them, and they are scattering everywhere, through the blades of grass, the rushing river, the mountains, the wind shaking the leaves of the forest, the iridescent flowers and the fish with their darting tails, until Dean calls out, hoarse, ecstatic, _Cas, Cas, Cas,I- Cas—_ and every single atom of Castiel's being wings toward him, puts themselves in Dean's hands and Castiel whispers, _Dean_ , and their grace twines around Dean's soul, in perfect, incandescent, irrevocable union.

**Fourteen.**

Jack's looking ill, which is a first since everything began anew.

"What's wrong?" asks Castiel, immediately, when they find him in Sector Twenty Three, moodily skipping stones across a mountain lake.

"It's _awful!_ "

"What is?" asks Castiel, confused.

"Having to _feel_ your dads _fucking_ for a _week_!"

And there's something in Castiel that melts at Jack calling them his "dads", but the majority of Castiel's feelings involve wishing they could fade into the aether.

"What good would that do?" Jack snaps, "I can feel _everything_."

"Can't you just—block it?"

"I _tried_ ", Jack snarls, "Believe me, I _did._ And it's not even the worst thing that happened this week, anyway."

Castiel squints at him.

"What _could_ be worse?"

Castiel doesn't think there's anything worse that the mortification that's shrivelling their grace at the moment.

"The CW network on Earth Five picked up Carver Edlund's _Supernatural_ books".

Oh, yes, that is _indeed_ worse by an _incomparable_ order of magnitude.

"Chuck?" he hazards.

"New and improved", responds Jack, rolling his eyes. 

"It's alright", Castiel tries to comfort him. "He's just a failed writer who's being given the opportunities that mediocre white men of his kind frequently get. Nobody's going to watch his show."

Jack brightens a little.

"You're right", he says, and then slides a glance at Castiel. "Maybe I can interfere _just a little._ "

"No", says Castiel, firm. "That's a bad idea."

"But…"

"No."

**Fifteen.**

"Jack, who's Robert Singer?"

**Author's Note:**

> \- Listen, I'm sorry.  
> -Yes, the title is a Florence Welch song because.  
> \- No beta, please feel free to point out errors and annoying punctuation.
> 
> [If you like, reblog on tumblr](https://drivingsideways33.tumblr.com/post/635639269395939328/sky-full-of-song-drivingsideways-supernatural)


End file.
